


The Bottle Incident

by EleanorOfA (BlueGirl22)



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: (for getting hit in the head w/ a bottle), Gen, I shouldn't have really tagged it for Ryden cause it's only rlly there if you squint but still, I take my (mild) angst where I can get it, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, also I'm aware that some of this feels exaggerated I just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:00:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueGirl22/pseuds/EleanorOfA
Summary: While playing a show in the UK in 2006, Brendon gets hit in the head with a bottle and knocked out for a few minutes. This causes Ryan The Anxiety.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Booooy am I LATE to this fandom. Anyway, I wanted to contribute something, so here you go. I also wrote this at four am on three consecutive nights, so alert me to any inevitable spelling/grammar mistakes, I am but a sleep-deprived dyslexic ninth-grader. (Some YouTube videos on this subject can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YHLPjEQL0A, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OStCBMqU_n4&t=3s, and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmGujfTEKO4)

2006  
Reading, Leeds

 _Shit shit shit_ , thinks Brendon as he dashes back and forth across the stage. _Shit shit shit_. He had heard that it was a semi-tradition in Leeds to “bottle” performers and see how they do under pressure, but he had assumed that was a rare occurrence. He certainly hadn’t expected bottles and cans to start flying less than thirty seconds into the first song.

When the first projectiles had gone whizzing by, his only thought had been for himself and his safety. But he’d quickly realized that he was at a considerable advantage to everyone else on stage: he had two free hands and was able to move around, whereas Spencer was stuck at the drums, and neither Ryan nor Jon could swat anything away because of the instruments in their hands. He needed to make sure nothing hit his bandmates.

 _Okay Brendon_ , he’d thought, _think of this like tennis. Except you don’t have a racket, these are much harder than tennis balls, and the opposing team can fling things non-stop without waiting for you to return. Not to mention that you’ve never played tennis before. Great analogy, Brendon_.

As he smacks away a can heading directly for Ryan’s nose, he realizes that he isn’t feeling any particular emotion. He certainly will be mad later, actually he will be _very_ mad later, but all of his brain space is being used for bottle tennis and remembering the lyrics to “The Only Difference Between Martyrdom And Suicide Is Press Coverage”. Going into the second verse, Brendon sprints back over to Jon and whacks away another flying beverage. He turns back to the audience and- _oh fuck_.

Everything went black.

* * *

 

Watching him dart to and fro around the stage, Ryan makes a mental note to thank Brendon for everything he has ever done. Before Brendon had started acting as a human shield, Ryan had been sure that he would walk away from this experience with, at the very least, a black eye and a couple of cuts. But count on Brendon Boyd Urie to do the most chivalrous (yet theatrical) thing.

However, Ryan can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen to Brendon. He tries to block those thoughts out, reminding himself that the crowd is too far away to get a good fix on a moving target. But nevertheless, the feeling of impending doom kept creeping back. He makes a deal with himself to just watch his friend, in order to warn him if he needs to dodge something, and not to get too worked up about it.

He sees Brendon pelting towards him, and realizes why as he flinches back from a Coke can sailing towards his face. He breathes a short sigh of relief when Brendon smacks it to the ground. Very quickly, he glances at the floor of the stage to see where the can came to rest, and sees that some of the metal is broken and warped. _Jeez_ , he thinks. _If that’d hit me, it could really have cut my face up. Could of done some real damage_. He looks back up at his surroundings, and time slows. In Ryan’s mind, what was probably eight seconds stretches into several minutes.

Brendon swats something away from Jon, and Ryan sees a green bottle careening through the air. Brendon is still turned around and doesn’t see it, but it’s going straight for his head. Ryan is about to call out, but he’s not fast enough. The bottle connects squarely with Brendon’s temple, and Ryan’s heart drops. Still processing things in slow-motion, Ryan watches as Brendon falls.

He goes down so gracefully, that, for a moment, Ryan tries to stir up some hope that Brendon may just be overreacting for show. _I mean, who passes out like that? He looks like he’s been knocked over with a feather. And finishing the last word he was singing? That’s almost to in character for Mr. The-Show-Must-Go-On_. But he realizes that some damage has really been done when everyone stops playing their instruments.

 _Brendon isn’t moving. Brendon isn’t moving_ . The mantra plays over and over in his head. _Brendon isn’t moving._ He doesn’t dare approach where he fell, so he just hangs back and peers at where Zack is crouched over his fallen bandmate. He watches as Zack’s fingers go to Brendon’s neck, no doubt searching for the pulse of the carotid artery. Ryan hears the beat of _his_ heart in his own ears. _Intellectually_ , he knows that it would be unlikely, if not impossible for someone to die from a head injury like that, but _emotionally_ , he’s scared. Zack lifts his head to call out, “He’s fine, there’s a pulse!”

Time speeds back up.

Ryan’s fear quickly melts into relief, which hardens into anger. He turns to the crowd, and sees about a dozen people turned inward to jeer and boo at one person who’s standing near the stage. It looks like this person is _fucking trying to signal for someone to give him his full bottle back_. Ryan is about to go over to the guy and give him more than a piece of his mind, but a large red headed fellow pushes through the crowd and beats him to it by punching the guy in the face. Ryan silently praises the ginger gentleman, flips off the bottle-thrower, and stalks away backstage.

Once he is out of everyone’s sight, the fear starts to set in again. _What if he’s got a concussion? What if he lost some memory? How long has he been passed out? Isn’t there something about brain damage having been done if someone has been passed out for too long? What if he’s_ really _hurt?_

He doesn’t have too long to dwell on these matters independently, because Spencer and Jon join him soon enough, both looking equal parts nervous and mad as Hell.

* * *

 

Brendon opens his eyes, and everything is blurry for a few moments. When the world comes back into focus, he sees that he’s looking up at the sky and the face of JP, the tour managed. He twists his head slightly and sees Zack is there, too.

“What the fuck is going on?” he says elegantly.

“You don’t remember?” says Zack. “You were knocked out. By-” he turns around and grabs a green bottle of something labeled ‘Lilt’, “this. Someone threw it at you.”

Brendon grabs the bottle and squints at it as what was said sinks in. “Shit,” he says softly, noting that the bottle is unopened. _Wait, wait I was knocked out-_ his eyes widen. “Shit!” he says more firmly, bolting upright. He looks at his wrist, hoping that a watch may have magically materialized on his arm. No such luck. He tries to get to his feet, but Zack and a few paramedics try and keep him down.

He shakes them off. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’ll just need an icepack later, no harm done.”

Reluctantly, they let him get up. A cheer goes up from the crowd when they see him stand, and he tries to hide how dizzy he feels on his feet. _Yep, yep, I’m fine. Completely fine. Never felt finer. If anything, the blow to the head made me healthier_.

“YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD TAKE ME OUT?” he shouts, to much applause. _The sun doesn’t look any lower. I can’t have been out for_ that _long. Hopefully_.

He rushes backstage to where the band is congregating. The other three begin all speaking at once, saying things like “Are you alright?”, “How’s your head?”, and “Are you sure you should be walking around?”, but he shushes them quickly.

“Guys, guys, I’m fine, but how long was I out? Do we still have time to play, can we finish our set?” He tries, unsuccessfully, to keep how nervous he is out of his voice.

“Wait, you still want to play?” says Jon, disbelief written all over his face.

“Yeah, shouldn’t you maybe go to a hospital or something? You did just get a pretty hefty head injury,” Spencer follows.

“No, no, like I just said, I’m _fine_ .” _You’re dizzy and kind of nauseous_ , says his internal monologue. _Shut up internal monologue_ , he thinks back. “Come on, you don’t expect me to give up that easy. We flew all the way out here, to this tiny, gray-skyed, fuck-off island in the middle of the ocean to _play_. And, this is our first playing in Britain. We gotta finish our set.” His eyes flicker around to the faces of his friends, trying to read their expressions. It’s kind of hard though, as his vision was still kind of blurry.

“You were out for like, three minutes,” Ryan pipes up. He’d been curiously quiet this whole time. “If you wanna go back out, we have to cut one song, maybe. We’ve certainly still got time.”

Brendon breathes a sigh of relief, looking around at everyone again. They still look pretty pissed. “We all good?”

“If you say so,” says Jon, making his way back out. Spencer nods and follows suit. Brendon turns to leave as well, but he feels Ryan’s hand on his shoulder.

Looking back at him, his friend seems nervy. “What is it, Ry’?” he asks cautiously. Ryan is usually so cheerful, so this is out of place.

“It’s just… I thought you might have been, like, seriously hurt. Like, _badly_.” He looks around shiftily. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Looking at Ryan, Brendon suddenly gets that this entire debacle could have been pretty unnerving from the other side. He grabs Ryan’s hand, still resting on his shoulder. “Thanks, bud. I’m glad you’re glad.”

Ryan smiles, and they head back out on stage.


End file.
